


Fall Into Your Sunlight

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Rewritten in Time [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Broken nose, Evil Diary, Falling Down Stairs, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all because she overslept. If Atlanta Black had simply woken up on time, her roommates had been successful at waking her, or if she simply went to bed before one in the morning, it would not have happened. If she had not been running around like the Mad Hatter getting ready for a tea party, she would have remembered to grab her stack of notebooks off the floor next to her bed. If she had been able to eat a proper breakfast she would have been thinking clearly.</p><p>Clearly, Atlanta woke up late, ran around like the Mad Hatter and missed breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall Into Your Sunlight

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don’t own it.**

_A/N: This is the story of what happens to Atlanta Black (OC from_ Regrets Collect _and_ History Keeps Pulling) _when she goes missing in_ History Keeps Pulling _._

* * *

It was all because she overslept. If Atlanta Black had simply woken up on time, her roommates had been successful at waking her, or if she simply went to bed before one in the morning, it would not have happened. If she had not been running around like the Mad Hatter getting ready for a tea party, she would have remembered to grab her stack of notebooks off the floor next to her bed. If she had been able to eat a proper breakfast she would have been thinking clearly.

Clearly, Atlanta woke up late, ran around like the Mad Hatter and missed breakfast.  

Professor McGongally had just taken away the stack of toast Ginny Weasley had gotten for her to eat when Atlanta realized she’d left her notebooks back in her room. The only notebook like object in her whole school bag was that blasted, black diary belonging to a T.M. Riddle.  

The one that frightened Draco. The one that caused Harry to go a bit…off. 

“Shoot,” she whispered, trying to see if she had any spare parchment. Atlanta hated parchment. She didn’t understand why notebooks weren’t more prevalent in the wizarding world, as keeping rolls of parchment wasn’t very organized. She’d witnessed way too many Ravenclaws with piles of parchment exploding all over the place to not keep notebooks.

Today, she failed to have parchment or her notebooks. Just the “evil” diary. 

“Miss Black,” McGonagall reprimanded. “You will be needing to take notes if you plan to understand.”

“Yes, Professor,” Atlanta answered. 

She was about to bite her pride and ask for some parchment from her Slytherin neighbor, when her eyes landed on the little black notebook again.

Stuff the Slytherin.

Throwing caution to the wind, she grabbed black diary out of her bag and flipped it open. Glancing at the only thing written in the whole book— T.M. Riddle— she turned to the first full blank page.

 Who ever T.M. Riddle was, he didn’t write anything in his diary. 

Maybe because it was filled with something dark and sinister?

Atlanta bit her lip as complex notes began to fill the blackboard in front of her. She knew the dangers of unknown books, especially ones that Lucius Malfoy wanted to give to his enemies. But, she had no choice. She had to write in it. She was not about to ask for parchment from the Slytherin she was seated next to. 

What trouble could she get in with writing in it with Muggle ink pens? And transfiguration notes at that?

Shaking her head, she grabbed her pen from behind her ear and began to write. She filled the first page (supposedly for her thoughts on 1 January 1943) with her transfiguration notes. She flipped the page and set her pen down to continue writing only to realize there were no indentations from her notes on the previous page. 

Frowning, she turned back to the first page. 

It was blank. 

“What the heck?” she whispered under her breath. 

While the stupid thing was sinister, evil things didn’t eat ink. Checking the back cover, she saw it still claimed to have been from a variety store on Vauxhall Road in London. Clearly Muggle, so the pages weren’t made with magic, but they could be charmed. Yet, there was no magic on the pages. Flipping it back to the first page, it was still blank. 

Atlanta shifted her vision for a moment so she could see magic better. There was no magic dancing around on the pages, just around the book. The black sparkly magic swirled around the book, but not the pages.

So, writing should be safe.

Maybe it hide what you wrote? Or maybe it was a storage system? You only had to write on the first page and it stored everything for later use? 

But it was evil, why would it help you out?

Shaking her head she tried again, writing more Transfiguration notes. She covered the page again and watched the ink sink into the page. 

“Dude,” she breathed.

“Shut up,” her neighbor hissed. “What are you doing?”

She quirked an eyebrow at the Slytherin sitting next to her, keeping a look of indifference on her face. “Nothing. Just note taking.”

Atlanta went back to note taking, hearing Ginny snort in front of her somewhere. 

Her notes continued to vanish. 

She wrote them over and over. Each time the stupid notebook ate them. What did this stupid, dark, evil notebook want with her Transfiguration notes? She was about to give off a frustrated growl when suddenly, writing appeared on the formerly blank page. Perfectly formed, artful handwriting filled the page with one question:

_Why do you keep writing Transfiguration notes in my diary?_

Bloody hell. It had a brain. It was evil and had a brain. 

Atlanta almost dropped her pen.

_And you seem to be using a Muggle ink pen, as this isn’t wizarding ink. Who are you?_

Atlanta felt her chest constrict. 

The evil book was talking to her. 

The Dark Magic swirled around her. She could feel it tugging at her, trying to pull her in. 

It knew her.

Atlanta mentally cursed in several languages. 

She slammed the notebook shut, loudly. She gained the attention of the class and Professor McGonagall frowned at her, docking Griffyndor five points. 

Atlanta gulped. Man, she was a moron. Yeah, she was eleven, but she should KNOW better than to write (even innocent school notes) in an evil object. 

She had experience with Dark Magic, being a Black. Her father was fascinated with anything Dark and had exposed her to it early in life. While it creeped her out a bit, it came easy to her. This thing, though, was on the darker side of Dark. 

There was something wrong with it. 

She’d never felt any pull from any things before. It felt like it’d reached out and tried to grab her. 

It felt like it knew her. 

Creepy on ten different levels. 

No more writing in it. Ever.  And she was getting rid of it. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted her to give it to the Headmaster or if they ought to just hold on to it. Harry was kind of mental. 

Atlanta was dumping it on Dumbledore. 

After she got her own notebooks from her room and got a copy of today’s notes. Then, next stop Headmaster’s Office! 

When class was over, she grabbed Ginny asking her for her notes. The redhead handed them over without questions. 

“You going to lunch?” Ginny asked, looking confused when Atlanta took off in the wrong direction. 

“I’m going to run to the tower and get my notebooks. I’ll see you at lunch,” Atlanta said, hurrying away. 

She darted around people as she took the moving staircase up to the seventh floor. After shouting the password to the painting, Atlanta hurried up the stairs to her dormitory. She grabbed her notebooks, shoving them into her bag. Tossing her bag onto her shoulder, she yanked out the thin diary. She glared at it, feeling it tugging at her magic. Whatever magic it had been made with seemed to be compatible with her own magic. She frowned at this, always wishing her magic wasn’t more suited for Dark than Light magic. 

“Whatever,” she grumbled, turning and heading out of the room. 

She tromped down the stairs, not really paying attention to what she was doing. Before she knew what was happening, she tripped on the edge of her robes (hence why she hated robes), throwing herself down the stairs. She landed face first on the floor, a sickening crack issuing from her nose. She could taste the coppery blood as it oozed out of her nose. Pain thundered around her mind and she felt woozy. She tried to push herself up, but something was preventing her from getting up. 

Something grabbed her and the world suddenly felt a lot like paper. And it smelled a lot like an old library. There was a short moment when she felt like she was squeezing through a tube that reeked of ink. The next, she was hurdled out of the tube and landed in a crumbled heap on a wooden floor. She hardly registered the fact there was someone letting out a string of curse words somewhere to her right. 


End file.
